Icing The Heart

My back slammed into the boards so hard the whole rink seemed to c***k open. For one blind second, all I heard was the thunder of my own body hitting glass, the sharp scrape of skates and the distant shout of someone calling my name. My helmet flew off, skidding across the ice like a useless piece of plastic while pain burst through my shoulder and down my ribs. Three cracked ribs last month. Concussion before that. If Jaxon Kane wanted me gone, he would have to kill me. I tasted blood and it was enough to make my tongue run over the inside of my lip and confirm that, yes, the great captain of the New York Titans had hit me hard enough to split skin during practice. Practice. Not a playoff game. Not a championship final. Not some desperate last-minute defensive move with the season on the line. Practice. The whistle had not blown before I pushed myself up. “Callahan,” Coach barked from somewhere near the bench. I ignored him. The ice tilted for half a second but I locked my knees and forced my body to remember who it belonged to. Pain was not new. Pain was practically stitched into the lining of my jersey. I had played through bruises, sprains, insults, headlines and the kind of silence that followed me into every locker room like a warning. First woman to play for the Titans. First woman to take the ice with men who smiled for diversity campaigns and then checked me like they were trying to erase the press release. First woman stupid enough to believe talent would be enough. I bent, picked up my helmet and shoved it back on. Jaxon Kane coasted toward me with that calm, controlled arrogance that made people call him a natural leader and made me want to bury my stick in his perfect teeth. He was six foot four inches of muscle, captaincy and bad attitude. Dark blond hair damp under his helmet. Icy blue eyes narrowed like I was a math problem he had solved two years ago and was tired of explaining to everyone else. “You are getting slow,” he said. I laughed humorlessly. “Funny. I was about to say the same thing about your reflexes. You hit me five seconds late.” A few of the guys behind him snickered. Jaxon did not look away from me. That was the thing about him. He never looked away first. Not during drills. Not during arguments. Not when he was tearing apart my form in front of everyone. He looked at me like if he stared hard enough, I would finally remember I did not belong here. His jaw tightened as he responded. “Your footwork is sloppy.” “My footwork got me past three of your defenders before you decided to body-check me into another tax bracket.” “You left your left side open.” “You mean you took advantage of a practice drill to act like a caveman?” His skates sliced closer in a smooth and controlled manner. The team had gone too quiet around us. Even the assistant coaches had stopped pretending to adjust their clipboards. Jaxon stopped in front of me, close enough that I had to tip my chin up to meet his eyes. “You are going to get yourself killed playing like that,” he said. My pulse jumped which annoyed me because it had no right to do anything except remain loyal to me. “Worried about me, Captain?” I asked. “Or worried I will break your scoring record before the season ends?” That did it. His jaw ticked while his eyes dropped to my mouth. It was brief…so brief I could have imagined it if my entire body had not reacted like the ice had shifted beneath my skates. Then his gaze snapped back to mine, colder than before. “Fix. Your. Stance.” “I am not one of your rookies.” “No,” he said. “Rookies listen.” I should have moved away. Instead, I stood there like an i***t while Jaxon Kane skated around me. His stick tapped against my left skate. “Wider,” he ordered. I did not move. “Callahan.” The way he said my name sounded like a warning and a dare at the same time. I shifted my foot half an inch. His gloved hands came to my hips. Every muscle in my body locked. The rink disappeared for one terrible second. There was only the hard line of his body behind me, the heat of him too close through layers of padding and his voice beside my ear. “If your weight stays here,” he said, nudging my hip into position, “you lose balance on the turn. You know that. You are fighting your own body because you are too busy fighting everyone else.” I swallowed. I hated that he was right. I hated more that my body noticed him before my pride could stop it. “Get your hands off me,” I said hoarsely. His fingers lifted immediately but he did not move away. “Then stand properly.” I turned my head slightly. “Do you teach everyone by assaulting them first?” “No. Just the stubborn ones.” “Careful. Someone might think you enjoy it.” His mouth tightened but his eyes did that thing again. Dropped. Returned. Burned. Behind us, someone coughed while someone else muttered something under his breath. Across the ice, Marcus Hale shook his head at me, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and warning. Marcus was the closest thing I had to a friend on this team which mostly meant he talked to me like I was human and only occasionally acted like I was a grenade with a ponytail. Coach’s whistle cut through the rink. “Kane. Callahan. My office. Now.” Jaxon moved away first. Finally. Air rushed back into my lungs and I hated myself for noticing. Coach’s office smelled like old coffee, expensive leather and disappointment. Jaxon stood to my left, arms folded, face unreadable. I stood to his right, still feeling the echo of the boards in my shoulder. Coach Harris sat behind his desk. Beside him was Lena Brooks from public relations, her sleek black bob tucked behind one ear and her tablet balanced on her knee. That was how I knew this was bad. Coaches handled practice fights while public relations handled disasters. This was really bad, I thought and swallowed hard. Coach clicked his remote and a video appeared on the screen mounted on the wall. It was of Jaxon in a bar. Jaxon grabbing a man by the collar. Jaxon’s fist connecting with the man’s face. I blinked hard. “Well,” I said. “That explains the warm welcome during practice.” Jaxon did not react to my barb. Lena’s eyes cut to me. “This is not funny, Rory.” “No, it looks painful.” “Enough!” Coach snapped. The video froze on Jaxon’s face. It was angry and wild. It was certainly not the controlled captain the cameras loved. Lena folded her hands. “The man he hit is already giving interviews. The clip is everywhere. Sponsors are nervous.” “He was harassing someone,” Jaxon said quietly. Lena looked at him. “That part did not go viral.” “Of course it didn’t,” I muttered. Coach’s gaze swung to me. “And while we are discussing viral disasters, your interview from yesterday is also trending.” My stomach sank immediately. Lena tapped her screen and read aloud, “‘The league is a boys’ club with a diversity sticker slapped on it.’” I lifted my chin. “I said what I said.” “You called the entire organization performative.” “If the skate fits.” Coach rubbed a hand down his face. “Sponsors are threatening to pull out. The board is angry. The press thinks Jaxon is violent and you are impossible to coach.” “I am impossible to insult quietly,” I corrected. Jaxon made a low sound beside me. It might have been a laugh. It might have been a warning. Lena pushed her body forward. “The Titans need a redemption story.” I did not like the way she said that. Coach looked between us. “You two are dating now.” Silence reigned at first. I stared at him as if he had gone mad. “Excuse me?” “You heard me,” Coach said and glared at me as if daring me to fight him. Jaxon unfolded his arms slowly and said coldly, “No.” “For once,” I said incredulously, “I agree with him.” Lena added as if we had not spoken. “The media already talks about the tension between you. We want to reshape it. Passion instead of hostility. Support instead of dysfunction. Jaxon looks protective and stable while Rory looks integrated into the team. It is a win-win for us all.” “I would rather eat glass,” I said. Coach’s eyes hardened. “Then chew carefully from the bench.” That shut me up while Jaxon went very still. Coach relaxed back on his chair. “Sell it or you are both benched.” The words hit harder than Jaxon’s check. My contract renewal was close. Too close. I could not afford to be benched. Not now. Not after two years of surviving everything they threw at me. Jaxon looked at Coach for a long moment. Then he asked, “How long?” I turned to stare at him, not knowing what to say. Lena answered. “Until the media believes it. Six months minimum.” Six months. With Jaxon Kane. Oh God, I was going to be sick. *** The locker room was empty by the time I got back. Good. I needed to be alone. I punched my locker once. Pain shot through my knuckles but at least it was real. Everything else that was happening right now felt unreal. So f*****g unreal. The door opened behind me. “You okay?” Marcus asked. I laughed without turning around. “I have to pretend to date the man who has been trying to end my career for two years. So, yes, Marcus, I am not just okay, I feel fantastic right now.” He ignored my sarcasm and came to stand beside me. “Maybe he has been trying to end his feelings for two years. Ever think of that?” I scoffed. “Do you hear yourself?” “Just saying.” “Do not.” He raised both hands. “Fine. I will not.” For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then my traitorous mind replayed Jaxon’s hands on my hips. His voice near my ear. The way his eyes had dropped to my mouth. Marcus watched me too closely. “Just be careful,” he said. “With Kane, just be careful.” I swallowed hard while wondering what he meant but I did not ask him. After he left, my phone buzzed. It was from an unknown number: We start tomorrow. I will pick you up at 7. Wear something that does not make you look like you want to murder me. — JK I stared at the screen then typed back without thinking: No promises. His reply came almost immediately: Good. I like a challenge. In response, my stomach did something that was dangerously close to anticipation. Oh God, I was so screwed.